Her friends were already in the waiting area when she arrived. Each woman wore a tasteful black dress but with varying accessories. Libbie had declined to wear jewelry at all, not wanting to look like she’d tried too hard. It was a funeral, not a fashion show.
“I feel like there should be a different dress code for summer funerals,” Julie said, plucking the fabric of her dress away from her skin. “Black is the worst.”
“You should’ve worn your pearls,” Kate said.
Libbie’s fingers drifted to her bare neckline. “I thought about it, but I didn’t want to look too fancy.”
“It isn’t a wedding where you run the risk of outshining a bride,” Kate said. “Pretty much everyone outshines a corpse.”
“Kate!” Julie’s admonishment rang out in the tiny waiting area.
“Oh, please, Inga would’ve laughed,” Kate said.
Their exchange was interrupted by the opening of the office door. A lustrous head of silver hair poked through the doorway. His beard and mustache were neatly trimmed, but his hair was gloriously tousled and fell well past his neck. Libbie hadn’t realized she was a fan of his look until this very moment.
“You must be here for Inga Paulsen,” he said.
He was what Kate would describe as a silver fox. With his dark blue suit, colorful tie, and healthy glowing skin, he looked like an advertisement for a Successful Adult Man. She immediately conjured an image of Chris in his boxer shorts in the kitchen, standing amidst a mess he’d made but failed to clean up. The Successful Adult Man seemed like the type to wipe down the counters and load the dishwasher after cooking her breakfast. Or maybe that was just Libbie’s fantasy of a good partner.
Kate was the first on her feet. She strode forward and shook his hand. “I’m Kate Golden.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Ethan Townsend.”
“Julie Duncan.”
“Rebecca Angelos.”
Libbie was the last one to stand and shake his hand. As his warm hand clasped hers, she suddenly felt inept and couldn’t seem to find her voice.
“And you must be Elizabeth,” he said, smiling at her.
His eyes crinkled in the corners in a way that was both attractive and infuriating. When Libbie’s eyes crinkled in the corners, they were crow’s feet, a sign of middle age that she couldn’t hide without the help of a plastic surgeon. The Successful Adult Man, however, didn’t have to hide. He could flaunt his glossy silver hair and wrinkles with a charming smile, while Libbie’s colorist was on her birthday and Christmas card list. Libbie recognized that part of her reaction was due to her internal misogyny. She only knew the term because Kate had brought a book to cocktail club last year that had opened Libbie’s eyes to the way women treat each other. She was relieved to learn that she didn’t fall into most of the traps, but, as with anyone, there were a few areas ripe for improvement.
“Libbie,” she corrected him. “Everyone calls me Libbie.”
“Nice to meet you, Libbie.” He motioned for them to join him in the office where four chairs were carefully arranged in a semi-circle in front of the desk. “I appreciate you coming before the funeral. I know time is of the essence, but Inga was insistent that you receive her assets as soon as possible after her death.”
“Why? Did she leave us frozen shrimp or something?” Rebecca slumped against her chair the moment the words left her mouth. “Sorry. I’m terrible in uncomfortable situations.”
Libbie patted her thigh. “You are not,” she whispered.
Libbie was far worse, except she tended to say nothing at all. She was too afraid of saying the wrong thing, which had the effect of making the other person feel like she didn’t care. It wasn’t an ideal dynamic.
Ethan opened a file on his desk. “Let’s get started so we can get you out of here. I don’t want to add to your stress on such an emotional day.”
Libbie sighed inwardly. Ethan Townsend seemed more like a compassionate doctor than a lawyer. Weren’t they supposed to be stuffy and devoid of personality? That was what she’d gleaned from television, anyway.
He lifted a document from the file. “As I’m sure you know, Inga Paulsen was a witch.”
“That’s rude,” Kate interjected. “She was a lovely woman who lived an incredible life.”
The lawyer chuckled. “I’m not casting aspersions, Mrs. Golden. Inga identified as a witch. I thought you knew.”
The women exchanged awkward glances.
“Well, we know she was an eccentric woman,” Julie said carefully.
Kate leaned forward. “Define witch.”
Ethan seemed at a loss for words. “According to Inga, she had certain…abilities.” He frowned. “You’re sure she never discussed this with you?”
Kate barked a short laugh. “No. I definitely would’ve remembered a conversation like that, no matter how many cocktails we consumed in a night.”
Ethan scratched the back of his head and chuckled awkwardly. “Okay, I guess I’ll take things a little more slowly then. Inga Paulsen was a registered witch and, as such, that gave her the right under Article III, Section 2(b) of the Witch’s Covenant to distribute her assets as she deemed fit.”
Rebecca burst into laughter. “This is a prank, right? Inga paid you to do this after she died.” She looked at the other women. “Can’t you just see Inga setting this up ahead of time?”
“It’s not like she knew she was going to die of a heart attack in the middle of our cocktail club,” Kate said.
“She still could’ve arranged it for an indefinite date.” Rebecca turned back to Ethan. “Are you even a real lawyer, or do you rent this place for when you need to perform?” Her eyes widened. “Omigod, are you a stripper?”
Libbie shifted uncomfortably in her chair. That would explain his handsome looks.
Ethan splayed his hands. “Ladies, I assure you this is all very real. If I didn’t have a valid law license, I’d have a lot of explaining to do right now, starting with my mother, who’s been telling people how proud she is of her son since about 1975.”
Libbie suppressed a smile.
“You’re in your forties?” Julie asked.
“No, fifties,” he said, “but that was around the year my mother was impressed enough to make a fuss. I think it might’ve been my finger-painting skills.”
Kate set her handbag on the floor next to her chair, a move Libbie recognized. Shit was about to get real.
“Mr. Townsend, I consider myself an educated woman,” Kate said. “I graduated from an Ivy League institution and have clients all over the world.” She offered him an indulgent smile. “Forgive my ignorance, but what is the Witch’s Covenant, and why have I never heard of it?”
“No one knows the origin of the covenant, only that it exists, and that women all over the world are both protected by and subject to its provisions.” Ethan paused. “As to why you, personally, haven’t heard of it, I can only guess that your reading habits don’t extend to the paranormal.”
Kate straightened her shoulders. “I’ll have you know that I read Twilight, the same as every other middle-aged woman in America.”